Graduating Class
by FatesMistake
Summary: Harry makes a bet with Ron, to be carried out on the day they leave Hogwarts. When an old tradition negates any chance of him backing out, can he face up to the challenge? And is he willing to accept the consequences?


A/N: For the purposes of this story, Hogwarts has a Graduation ceremony for the Seventh Years. However, it is for _just_ the Seventh Years. After lunch, before everyone leaves for the Summer (or in this case, forever-barring-kids/job etc.) the Seventh Years remain behind and in the hour or so in-between the last lunch and leaving Hogwarts, they are given an opportunity to say goodbye to their professor's. Of course, no Seventh Year may ever mention this event, as some things said or done are better left secret.

Albus Dumbledore stood as the Seventh Years waited expectantly at the back of the Great Hall where they'd been told to stand. With a wave of his hands, the House tables disappeared. "This is a private ceremony in celebration of you students who have survived your tenure at Hogwarts and come out the other side as only-slightly scathed adults." There was an appreciative chuckle from the students. "Before you all are meant to leave this school, never again to return as students, you have an opportunity now to speak with all of your professors, and are given leeway to speak your mind. You may give thanks, or you may insult us if you prefer. As your instructors of seven years, we are all of us aware that we cannot hope to improve for the next generation without input from the generation that came before. All we ask in return for this opportunity is that you harbor no ill-will after today, as we have done our best to guide you in your time here. To the students who will be returning to apprentice under one professor or another, know that nothing said here will ever be held against you. To ensure this, we are all, you included, bound by a spell preventing us from ever discussing this event. This spell, and this tradition, is as old as Hogwarts herself." With a clap of his hands, trays of filled champagne flutes began floating around the Hall, and the teacher's descended, one-by-one, from the Head Table.

The students stood nervously, uncertain, and it was Neville Longbottom who broke the tension first. Stepping away from the line of students, he grabbed a passing glass of champagne and approached the Head of Slytherin. Snape looked at him expectantly.

"Thank you, Professor Snape," The boy said boldly. "Your lessons are invaluable, and the potions you provide irreplaceable. However, I think you are a bully, and should have more sympathy to students like Harry, or Justin, who have never been exposed to magic before coming to Hogwarts. You expect perfection, and I suppose that expectation has saved a lot of students from exploding cauldrons, but that expectation comes at the cost of potentially talented Muggle-borns. You expect perfection, and then deny them the tools to achieve it. Your other bullying aside, _you_ are the reason so many students, even Slytherins, fail at Potions."

The Potions Master frowned at the boy who had grown so much since first coming to Hogwarts, and the Seventh Years held a collective breath. "I appreciate your input, Mister Longbottom, and will take it under advisement; extra tutoring, perhaps, for the students who need it." The calm response broke the near-palpable tension radiating from the other Seventh Years. Slowly, still hesitant, they began to disperse into the Hall to speak with the professor's.

After nearly a half-hour, the students and professor's stood interspersed in groups around the Great Hall, only Albus Dumbledore and Severus Snape standing alone against one wall. Several students had approached to air their grievances against the Potions Master, but none had stayed to speak with him as they were with the other professor's. Throughout it all, the man had remained utterly stoic.

"Go on, Harry!" Ron urged. "You promised, and this way you won't have to deal with the repercussions."

The Wizarding Savior glanced at the Potions Master. "But the bet was for doing it before we got into the carriage's," He argued weakly.

The red head rolled his eyes. "No, the bet was for before we left, I never said you had to do it on the front steps. What if Snape's not there? You have to do it now." He insisted.

Harry Potter groaned, but nodded. "Fine, a bet is a bet, and I did say I'd do it. If he kills me, though, I'm going to haunt you for the rest of your life."

Hermione spoke up from where she'd been speaking to McGonagall nearby. "He's not going to kill you, Harry. Worst he'll do is give you the same blank look he's been giving everyone else. Maybe a small frown, like he did with Neville."

Squaring his shoulders, and downing the last of the champagne in his glass, the graduated Seventh Year gave his two friends a final glare before turning towards the Potions Master. As he cut a swath through the Great Hall, the other student's and professor's turned to watch. He came to a stop in front of his quarry, only glancing briefly at the aged Headmaster beside him, and extended his hand.

Snape took it in his own. "What's this for, Potter?" The man asked suspiciously.

Harry shook the long-fingered, calloused hand gently. "This is for being a good Potions Master. I'd be dead if it weren't for you." He leaned forward, surprising the taller man, and placed a swift kiss on the thin lips. "That's for everything else." He stood there, looking at the man hopefully, but the mask of stoicism remained firmly in place. He sighed. "Right, it was worth a shot. Goodbye, Professor."

Harry Potter turned to walk away, and Albus elbowed Severus in the ribs. The Potions Master glared at his boss. After only a second of silent communication passing between them, he gave an annoyed, exaggerated sigh, and turned back to the retreating form of the former Gryffindor.

"Potter," He said. The boy froze, likely expecting a rebuke, and Severus' long legs carried him across the distance between them in only a few strides. He grabbed the Wizarding Savior by his arm and swung him around into an intimate embrace. "I am not fond public displays of affection." He growled against his former student's lips. He compounded on this testament by pulling the younger man into a passionate kiss. Catcalls and wolf-whistles echoed around the Hall as the kiss deepened minutely.

Harry felt somewhat dazed when they pulled apart enough to breathe. "Right, yeah, no PDA…I'll have to remember that."

Severus smirked. "There are, of course, exceptions." The Great Hall rang with more cacophonous cheering as he pulled Harry into another toe-curling kiss.

Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley gladly accepted the gold coins Minerva McGonagall passed to each of them.


End file.
